Fern Britton Summer Collection: New Beginnings, Hidden Treasures, The Holiday Home, The Stolen Weekend. Fern Britton
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house was imposing from a distance: turreted and hewn from granite. But, close up, it was quietly falling into disrepair. Pa had bought it when he retired from his law firm in order to give his wife, who was rather further up the social scale than he was, the reward he felt she needed for marrying him in the first place. Nick’s parents had done very well over the years with her inheritance and his hard graft, which had taken him from legal assistant to senior partner. He’d invested well but, in their final days, clearly didn’t feel like spending anything on repair bills or heating. The house was as cold as the granite it was built from.
As they parked outside the front of the house, Ma and Pa, Blackie and Scottie came out to meet them.
‘Nick, my boy. Good to see you, old chap.’ Pa pumped Nick’s arm. And this must be Christie. Welcome, welcome. Good of you to come.’ He shook her hand too. ‘This is my wife, Elisabeth.’
Christie’s hand was taken in a firm but cold handshake. ‘I’m so excited to be here,’ she enthused. ‘What a glorious spot.’ Spot? What was she saying? Calling it a spot was like calling Balmoral a mobile home. She stood and took in the three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view. Only two houses, way in the distance, and the narrow potholed road on which they’d travelled. The rest she described later to Mel as ‘Scenery! There’s just loads and loads of scenery. And sheep. And that’s it.’
‘Thank you,’ Elisabeth said, without apparently moving any part of her face. ‘Do come in. I hope you’ll be warm enough.’
‘I’m sure I’ll be fine.’ Christie followed her, dying to see what was offered inside. But she wasn’t fine. She was frozen. The fire lit in the library where they had tea and Dundee cake was barely glowing. She could almost see her breath on the air. No wonder Nick had packed for the Arctic. Later he showed her to her bedroom. It had a pretty view of the scenery, heather-sprigged wallpaper and a very high but single bed.
Are we not allowed to sleep together?’ she asked, taken aback.
‘Ma doesn’t approve. But it’s much more fun this way. I can come and warm you up a bit later, if you like! Shall I run you a bath? Your lips are going blue.’
She punched his arm.
The bathroom was a perfect example of early-Victorian plumbing. The enormous, stained bath stood on lion feet. Nick turned on the large brass taps only for there to be a time delay before icy water eventually came through. Ten minutes later, only a couple of inches covered the bottom but at least the water had got hotter and the steam seemed rather exotic so Christie did the best she could to enjoy it while Nick sat on the closed loo lid holding a big but balding bath towel for her. While she went to get dressed, Nick jumped into her water. As she put on as many layers as she’d brought with her, she wondered if anyone would notice that she was wearing two pairs of tights.
Supper was also in the library, where a small card table had been set up and laid by the fire. Elisabeth tottered in and out with bowls of cabbage, carrots and mash and finally a leg of lamb. Nick carved while Pa poured very generous glasses of Scotch for them all. The evening was memorable, and as Christie got to know Ma and Pa, she found them funny and kind. Elisabeth took a little time to weigh her up, but after a couple of hours she picked up her glass and made a toast: ‘To Christie and Nicholas. We’re happy to have you here with us.’
‘What was that about?’ whispered Christie, as Nick walked her up the stairs to her bedroom.
‘I think it’s her way of saying she likes you. Which is good because I like you too.’ They stopped outside her bedroom door. ‘And so does Pa. I can tell.’ To her astonishment, he dropped on to one knee. ‘Darling Christie, I like you so much I would like to marry you. Would that be all right? I love you.’
‘Oh, my God. Yes! Yes, please!’ Christie was giddy with happiness.
He stood up and just about managed to pick her up and carry her over the threshold of her room. And, funnily enough, she didn’t feel the cold once that night.
The summer sun was slanting through the branches of the two magnificent chestnut trees in the south-west corner of the garden. Shadows danced on the grass where Christie had arranged the two deckchairs. She put down the mugs of tea, making sure they were steady before she let go. Between the two women, a plate of chocolate-chip cookies lay untouched. Maureen was watching her weight, as always, and had refused them with a small sniff. Christie took two, just for the hell of it, and balanced one on the arm of the chair as she took a bite out of the other. As the sweetness filled her mouth, she relaxed, but not completely. She had something to achieve first.
‘I wouldn’t ask you unless I had to.’ As Maureen bristled, Christie realised how her words might have been interpreted. ‘What I mean is,’ she added hastily, ‘no one could do the job as well as you and I wouldn’t trust the children with anyone else, Mum. So, would you consider looking after them for me while I’m at work?’
Her ruffled feathers smoothed, Maureen brightened a little. ‘I’d like to help but I need to check my diary.’ Her involvement in local affairs was second to none. She organised local fêtes, coffee mornings, charity events, and was a stalwart of any adult-education opportunities on offer. And besides all that, there was Ted, her loyal companion. Her time was a precious commodity.
Christie relaxed a little bit more. This was to be expected. Maureen relished playing hard to get. That way, when she eventually agreed to a request, the gratitude she received was always the greater. After years of being irritated by the habit, Christie now accepted it as part of her mother’s character. Her grandmother had died years ago, but Christie well remembered the straight back, the pinched face and the distressing lack of affection she showed to any of her family. Maureen had obviously paid the price for her upbringing and seemed to flourish with the reassurance she gained from being needed.
‘It’s not for ever,’ Christie urged, ‘just until Gilly returns to work full time. They’re expecting that to be next spring or early summer. In the big scheme of things, that’s no time at all. I should earn enough to keep us going for a while and do the house up a bit more. And I’ll pay you for a proper job.’
‘Let me think about it,’ Maureen hedged. She raked a manicured hand through her artfully streaked hair. ‘You know, I can’t put my life on hold much longer. I’ve promised Ted that, one day, we’ll go back to Rajasthan. He’s desperate to see his parents’ graves again. He had a happy time as a boy out there – “son of the Raj”, as he calls himself – and tempus fugit, you know.’
‘Yes, Mum, I do know, but right now I need you. We need you. Look at this place. There’s so much crying out to be done. This is my chance to pay off my overdraft at last and put the house right. I’ve got to do something about the conservatory before it falls in and there’s damp rot in my study and two of the bedrooms. Central-heating that worked would be a bonus. And I need a new washing-machine. I could go on and on.’
‘I did warn you that it would be too much when you bought the place. But would you listen?’
Her knowing tone infuriated Christie, as it so often did. ‘I’m glad I bought it, really glad. It’s home – but the upkeep’s a bit more than I’d imagined.’
Maureen sniffed again and arched her eyebrows.
‘But now I’ve got a chance to begin to sort out the house and my financial problems.’
‘Well, I’m not not helping. I’m just pointing out that it’s not that straightforward.’
For that read, ‘I want you know how much I’m sacrificing,’ thought Christie. Instead, she said, ‘It’s not for long – not even a year – just to collect the kids from school